This Concrete Face
by MerelyLily
Summary: "Anyone who spits at Alabar on their way in is a friend of mine," Anders said with false cheer. "Well, we're here to welcome you to our shared, shiny prison. It's a grim place." Moiraine Amell's time at Kinloch Hold with friends, Jowan, Amelie Surana, Anders, Morgase[OC] and Graeme[OC]. (Slightly AU, is mostly able to fit to canon) Kinda-Sorta Prequel to There Are Always Chains.
1. Damned Templars

**Author's Note**: Hi there! Thanks for clicking. :P

So, the main character here is Moiraine Amell, and this is mostly a prequel to another story I'm about seven chapters through on writing, about the events of Origins [There Are Always Chains] (Wardens F!Amell and F!Cousland), which is slightly AU as to ages and characters' histories. I admit, my Circle Tower's really, really, angsty. I love it. I'm sorry. I'm also ashamed. xD I'm not a bad person, I swear. /p

Also, a F!Surana is included as a main character in the prequel, and returns later. I have a list of the planned fics I have for this series, and not all of them focus on Moiraine, but she's my favourite. She really is. Most of the others are me trying to push what I'm willing to do for character POVs. Moiraine's is easiest, really; she almost writes herself Chains.

On my profile, near the bottom, I have links to pictures on my dA account, which are of OCs from my various fics, mostly this Greyscale Series.

Greyscale is rapidly turning into a massive project. As it grows bigger, though, TCF is getting shorter. Oops. Now, I'm reposting the existing two chapters, edited, because I realize I actually managed to change the main character's name halfway through the first chapter. But, it also looked like she could have been lying to the templar. Well, either way, her name's Moiraine Amell. I fixed it.

I also added journal entries, when I later decided she would have a journal. There might be tiny spoilers, such as what a character's affinity is in this one, or that there'll be a character named such and such, but nothing like "so-and-so killed so-and-so then threw himself out a window." They're a journal, not a diary, really, and though she might rant her opinions and thoughts down at any given time, she also writes down information to remember. It's just her way of keeping track of everything, thoughts or otherwise.

I don't know if I should post There Are Always Chains right now, or wait until I finish TCF, first. ?

Also, I'm going to have relatively short chapters (for my standards), to update faster, at least starting on chapter three.

Anyways, onwards.

* * *

**Chapter One – Damned Templars**

_Life me up above this,  
__The flames and  
__The ashes.  
__Life me up and help me to fly away.  
__Life me up above this,  
__The broken, the empty.  
__Life me up and help me to fly away.  
__Life me up..._

_-Lift Me Up, Five Finger Death Punch_

The Amells had an estate in Kirkwall. It belonged to my uncle, Gamlen. I barely remember him, but I don't think I ever liked him. He was always walking a line between being a bitter ass and being a drunk; not that I noticed that at age ten.

My father, Gerrod, who was Gamlen's cousin, married my mother, another noble in Kirkwall. Her name was Revka Alannah. I lived with my parents at my mother's estate for the first twelve years of my life in relative comfort. My father and I were close. Almost every day, he would take me out to the yard and teach me to fight. His little girl would never be defenseless, he told me, even when he wasn't there. He wouldn't always be, he admitted once. I was nine. I asked him why, and he told me that no one would be around forever. What followed was a conversation about death.

This might sound like an awful thing to tell a nine year old girl, but for us, it wasn't. I was told all of my life that I was mature for my age, that I was intelligent. When I was nine, father would tell me I had the brain of a twelve or thirteen year old. I was treated as such. Father gave me responsibility, and always told me the truth.

I matured quickly for quite a few reasons. Well, up until age twelve, the reason for my maturity was a mixture of things unrelated to the reasons for an even faster maturing after said age. Firstly, I was just a mature person. I was quiet, and I thought about things often. I had strongly opinionated from a young age, and I was completely shameless in expressing those opinions, to anyone.

Secondly, I grew a... _healthy_ amount of cynicism around age eleven. I grew up with a girl named Adelaide, another noble. She was a year older than me. When we were very young, I used to follow her around like a puppy. I copied the things she did, the things she wore. Even her personality wore off on me, causing me to be a little tiny bit sarcastic, but just in a humorous way on occasion. See, when we were eleven, she started being even slightly cruel towards me, as children are wont to do.

I didn't expect this from the person I looked up to. I looked up to my father, of course, in my own way, but his and I's relationship was much more even. Adelaide, I looked up to. She started disregarding me, and ignoring me for others. She would stare at me with a look of pure condescension whenever I commented on anything. Apparently, anything that came out of my mouth was unintelligent and irrelevant. I built a thoughts-to-mouth filter, checking for everything I said. I became good at it.

Of course, I wasn't unintelligent. I knew she was doing this. I knew she didn't want me around. I knew what she thought. I started hating myself whenever I said something that made her give me that look. I can't say why I kept trying, but I did. I was clinging to a past that wasn't there anymore, and it didn't work.

"Moiraine," she told me, using my full name, "I don't think we should be friends anymore." I remember an internal struggle to keep my face expressionless. I succeeded. I asked her why. "You're just really annoying," was her answer. "No friends last forever." That definitely put up a barrier of self-doubt on my mind. And not only that, but I no longer believed in friendship. I suddenly found myself not trusting any of my other friends with any kinds of personal information.

It seemed I had subconsciously taken her words to heart. The next year, another of my friends suddenly stopped talking to me. He'd found other friends, someone told me. I saw him once and a while, and he never noticed me. He was with his other friends. I wasn't surprised. I expected people to leave me.

And so went all of my naivety. I grew cynical, at age eleven. By age twelve, I was hiding my insecurities, pretending I didn't care about any of them. I pretended to be arrogant. Or at least learning to.

I had always been a talented liar.

Thirdly, I read. I read history and I read fiction. I read about other people's lives, real or not, and I kept the knowledge of their mistakes. I knew the mistakes that could be made and avoided them, but this had its pros and cons. I knew the what, but not always the how. I learned.

This sounds horrible for an eleven year old. If it makes it sound any better, this was a development up to age twelve. Of course, I only got worse, then.

**Age Twelve, Kirkwall, 18 Cloudreach, 9:11 Dragon**

"Father... Father!" I called in his ear, shaking the body that was lying on the ground. It looked like my father. He was stabbed through the chest, and there was blood everywhere. I looked around, feeling hazy. I thought back to how I'd gotten there, and couldn't remember anything. I recognized this; it wasn't anywhere near the first time I'd had one of these dreams. It was something a desire demon did; made you despair so you would want that which you desire even more.

Suddenly, there were whispers I recognized vaguely in my ears. They made false promises that I immediately mistrusted. _No, no, no and no! He's _not_ dead!_ I denied all of them fervently. They were gone a moment later and I was reeling back in my own bed.

The dreams were a rare occurrence that had been happening over the past few years. Father told me what they meant, what the odd candles lighting up, the drafts. There were other, more hazardous occurrences, but they were rarer. I kept my emotions in check extremely well. I was a mage, I knew. Father and I knew what that meant: the Gallows. It was probably foolish to stay in Kirkwall.

He kept it secret for me. We didn't tell Mother. She would've thrown me out, we both knew. She'd practically ignored my existence for half of my life, and was definitely terrified of mages in a mindless, Chantry-poisoned way.

On a side note, I had no respect for the Chantry. I thought everything they spewed out was biased bullshit. I'd never admitted it aloud, but I doubted the Maker's existence, too. I had no patience for the pious.

I digress. I rolled out of the bed, onto the floor. I woke up sweating every time I had one of those dreams. It was rare that I had them, and when I did, it was because my emotions had been out of control when I fell asleep the night before. If I was calm and even when I drifted off, I learned, they couldn't find me. Oddly enough, whenever I had them, I thanked my lack of trust and habit of silently questioning everything I hear. Father told me what they were. Demons, he told me.

I stood up and peeled off my damp underclothes, which were usually the only thing I slept in. I threw them over in the corner of the wardrobe for the moment before putting new ones on, but forgoing the breast band. I found a crimson loose, silky shirt with flowing sleeved to my elbows, which I put on. In mind of the hot weather, I pulled on a white and red split riding skirt that went down to my knees, without the leggings. I almost laughed, thinking of what _dear mother_ would say when I left. Next I searched for a corset, going through the effort to find my white one, which laced up in the front, so I wouldn't need help from anyone.

I left my daggers in my room that day, thinking them unnecessary as I wasn't planning to leave Hightown. I knew there were never guarantees when I was planning on meeting Aaron, but it wasn't on the front of my mind. I'd recently met Aaron, and we'd made friends quickly. We were a worrisome pair for my mother; we shared a fondness for adventure and doing things in the spur of the moment. I descended the stairs cheerfully, grabbing my coin purse instead of breakfast.

"Morning, Moira," Father greeted. He was the only person who called me Lai, just for the sake of being unique. Everyone else called me Moiraine, my full name. "Practice, later?"

"Of course," I replied immediately, and hugged him good morning. We practiced almost every day. "I'll be home."

"Watch your mother," he muttered in my ear. _She's behind us,_ I thought. Sure enough, I turned around to Mother's narrowed eyes. She looked me up and down.

"Moiraine!" she scolded. "You're twelve years old! Look at yourself, you're dressed like a... like... like a..."

"What are you trying to go for here, Mother?" I questioned, completely unaffected by the scolding. "Whore?" I saw Father hide a grin from the corner of my eye. Mother, however, looked scandalized. "What, Mother, dear? Not the sentiment you wanted to construe?" my face was the picture of false innocence.

"I... I... Moiraine!" she snapped, as though saying my name would suddenly cow me. I doubted that would do it, seeing as I had a reputation with all of my friends for being 'fearless'. Of course, none of my friends were very observant, apparently. Obviously, I had fears. I just refused to be afraid. If that was impossible, I hid it. I raised an eyebrow at Mother. She continued her rant. "Are you going out to meet that boy?" I nodded. It would be a waste of a good lie. I didn't care if she knew. "Moiraine! At this rate, you won't be a maiden by the time you're fifteen!"

"Probably not," I said simply. It was true. I had no desire to _stay_ a maiden. Not being married was bad enough among nobles; I wasn't about to do it at age _twelve_. Not that I looked, acted, or felt twelve. Or that it was the nobles' business. Or that they would know. Of course I had an... interest? In Aaron, that was. Mother was speechless, and was simply opening and closing her mouth.

"I'm impressed you could get that out without blushing, by the way," I intoned. Some days, I had no patience for her. Honestly, it was like she was barely my mother. She hated who I was, and would hate me even more if she knew I was a mage. I decided a long time ago that if someone wasn't going to like me, they weren't worth my time. Recently, I added Mother to that list. I turned and smiled at Father before picking my leather boots up and darting out the door. I carried them with me down the walkway before putting them on. I headed into the Hightown markets, where I sat down at the edge of the main stairs to wait.

"Nice day, isn't it?" Aaron's voice said from behind me, and I spun around, my wavy golden blonde hair, the colour of an Alannah's, falling into my face. I irritably pushed it back and started untying the leather strip on my wrist.

"It is," I replied. I wasn't sure on the small talk, but I was sure it would pass in a minute. I pulled all of my golden blonde hair over one shoulder and did a quick loose braid, tying it off with the leather strip. I pushed my bangs back and took the hand Aaron offered me, and he pulled me to my feet.

A horse, two hats and a loaf of bread later, we found ourselves wandering Lowtown. So, perhaps not the best place for a twelve year old noblewoman, with a fourteen year old merchant's son, but we went anyways. We'd been a few times before, and hadn't encountered trouble yet.

That was until a talentless pickpocket saw an easy target and picked up my coin purse as he went passed me. I noticed and shouted at him. He picked up the pace, breaking into a run for one stride before Aaron's fist found its way to his face. The man was knocked backwards briefly but recovered quickly. He threw a punch back, and was admittedly had a much better arm. Aaron went down faster than _I_ would have and I might have lost a bit of respect for him, but I digress. That isn't the point. Aaron's nose was broken and there was blood on his face, but that wasn't my focus when the thief pulled out a single dagger and advanced on me.

I don't think he meant to kill me. I think he just meant to scare me so he could run past. I didn't know that then, and when I didn't move out of the way, he went to lunge at me. I was unsure if he was going to hit me or stab me, and I raised my hands, letting out a blast of fire as a reaction. He screamed once as his forearms received awful burns, and the coin purse lit on fire, too. He dropped the flaming bag to the ground and sprinted away as quickly as he possible could.

"You're... you're a mage," Aaron spluttered, picking himself up off the ground and attempting to wipe the blood flowing from his nose away. Once he was on his feet, he backed up a few steps. I swear I could see fear on his face. I steeled myself against the hurt that flashed briefly in my chest. There was a commotion from the residents of Lowtown, and I knew I had to run. I turned tail and sprinted for Hightown, not stopping at all.

I was exhausted and panting when I reached our estate's door. I rushed inside, hoping to have beaten the templars, if they were coming. No, they _were_ coming. I knew it. I wasn't lucky enough for them not to.

"Father!" I yelled, desperately hoping for _something, anything _to stop what I knew was coming. I'd never before felt the desire to cower behind someone, to have them _make it all go away_ this strongly. Father appeared from around the corner in a hurry, and Mother was descending the stairs.

"Stop yelling in the house," she scolded. "_What_ is the problem?"

"Father, I... I didn't mean to!" I cried, my eyes watering. I ignored Mother. I'd _burned _someone. I could have _killed _him. "It just happened!"

"Moira. Moira! What happened?" Father said, gripping my shoulders to steady me.

"The magic! Fire... I burned... Lowtown, there was a pickpocket... he had a knife, and..." I sobbed, my voice shaking and breaking with my fear. A few tears had escaped my eyes, but I wasn't crying hard. I was almost hyperventilating.

"Moira. Moira!" He put his hands on my face, making me loot into his eyes. "It's alright. Shh. Shh. You didn't do anything wrong. Did anyone—"

Someone knocked three times on the door and a deep voice announced my father's name.

"Upstairs, Moira, go! Get your daggers, run! Get out of here. The _templars_, girl. My girl..." Father looked like he wished he could cry, but he refused to break. He knew I would follow. He detached a purse from his belt and pressed it into my hand. I turned and sprinted past my mother, who was standing at the foot of the stairs in shock.

I threw the door open to my room, and grabbed my belt and daggers off the nightstand, buckling it on my waist, over the skirt instead of under, as I usually did, in my hurry. _Don't think, _I decided. _If I hesitate, I have lost. _

I had no time to change, no time to pack. I grabbed a cloak hanging on a hook, and a stray pair of leggings on the edge of my bed, just the things that were in plain sight. I rushed back the way I came, back out the door. There were two options: jump out a window, maybe onto a neighboring roof, or go down the only stairs we had, which would put me in sight of the templars.

"A _mage_!" I heard Mother shout, indignant. She'd known I was a mage since I'd spoken hurriedly to my father; this indignant shout was feigned. Of course, she hadn't known before today. She'd be fine.

"No!" I heard father shout, and as I neared the top of the stairs, wanting to see what father was doing. He'd stepped in front of the staircase, blocking the templars' way. "My girl..." he said, more weakly.

"Sir, the penalty for harbouring an apostate is death. The Knight-Commander will drop that charge if you stand aside, but the penalty for interfering in a templar arrest is also death. Stand aside, sir," the templar in front said. He was the one with the deep voice, and his armor was a little different than the three templars behind him. Perhaps he was one of those Knight-Captains.

"No!" Father insisted. "You won't take her." He reached for the daggers at his waist. I knew he was a talented rogue, but there were _four_ templars. I doubted that he could fight them alone.

_Alone_, a voice whispered. I lurched forwards, my feet carrying me to the stairs and downwards. Father parried that first blow from the templar before he heard my footsteps and spun around, despair showing in his eyes.

"No... Run!" he begged me as I pulled out my daggers. "Go, go to-" The last word was halted by a choking noise, and a blood red sword protruding from his chest. His eyes widened and he fell first to his knees before landing flat on the floor, face down. The templar put his foot on my father's back and wrenched the sword out before lifting it and pointing it at me. I pulled my gaze up from my dead father to look at the templar's face.

In a matter of seconds, I studied every feature, every _line_. He was blonde, middle aged, and had cold blue eyes. I would remember this face. I spared one glance at my cowering mother, resisting the urge to spit on the floor. "She wasn't always like this," I remember Father telling me once. It didn't help.

I put my left hand on the railing before launching myself over the bannister, landing agilely on the floor, sprinting immediately for the back entrance. I heard the templars shouting to follow, to chase me. I'm sure they did, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the pounding of my feet.

I didn't stop running. I ran, ran until I reached Darktown; the undercity. They were still behind me, but I was _fast_, and I was ahead. I didn't know my way around Darktown, and it didn't matter. I turned sharp corners and jumped down staircases without a thought to where I was going. _Away_, my mind thought.

I jumped sideways into an alley, pressing my back against the wall. I was hiding half behind a pillar. _One, two, three,_ I counted as the templars continued in the other direction. _Four templars. _They would launch a search, I knew. Finally, I released my breath and slumped to the floor. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall. _It can't be real_, my mind protests, but my logical side won out. _There's nothing unrealistic about it. This is it. _

I scolded the tears that sprung from my eyes, but I lost. They flowed freely and I shook as I sobbed, unable to think. It was the middle of the day, but somehow, I woke up on my side a while later, tears dried to my face.

I felt numb. Not physically, but emotionally. I had an odd desire to _laugh._ Laugh, howl, break, sob, and _cry_ because these things _didn't happen to real people. _

But they do, and have, so I picked myself up off the ground. I couldn't stay here. _"Go, go to..." Where?_

_Ferelden_, a voice in my head told me.

This wasn't the adventure I was hoping for.

**Age Thirteen, Denerim, 10 Kingsway, 9:11 Dragon**

Denerim was the first place I could get passage on a boat for. It took the entire purse Father gave me to get there, and now I was stuck there, working at the Gnawed Noble for a room and food. It was bearable, but I would've preferred not having to do it. It was almost a laughable thought; the noble mage working tables.

I'd abandoned my silk shirt and skirt for leggings, a cotton shirt and riding skirt, but I kept the corset. It was my favourite, and not too fancy for a barmaid to have saved up for. I'd earned a bit of money, but I was barely paid for my work.

My shift ended, and I wandered out of the tavern, into the market. I thought I might be lonely, but half of my mind doubted it, saying that I'd never minded being alone. It was true, I didn't. I found it easy to entertain myself with my own thoughts.

That day, I made the mistake of wandering past the Chantry. Every so often, there was one of the sisters out front, preaching. Today was one of those days. I stopped, leaning against a wall. I observed the small crowd gathering. It was only a few people, but that they were there angered me. I felt that anger bubble, and I clenched my fists. I'd heard her before, and the hypocrisy angered me then, too, but it wasn't this bad.

Today was my name-day.

Every year, Father would get me a present and make me a meal of whatever food I wanted. I would spend the day with him, just as family.

But this year, he was dead, and I was in Ferelden, working to survive.

Dead because of the _thrice damned Chantry._

Suddenly, a rose bush to my right lit up in flames spontaneously. I jumped sideways, my eyes wide. Not _again._ This couldn't keep happening. My control slipped whenever I was too angry, or I could do it on instinct when I was threatened. It was rare that either of those things happened; I had great control over my emotions and actions. If I was angry, it was rare that I would show any outward signs. Really, the only time my control over this magical fire that happened on occasion was things around the Chantry. I think I was doing it myself, and if I could know how it was that I drew on that power, I would have full control.

I didn't, though. I turned, unsure as to where to run. There wasn't really anywhere to go. Suddenly, it felt like I couldn't breathe, though I was still breathing. It was gone in a few seconds, and I fell to the ground, completely winded.

"A mage!" I heard a voice call. I was dizzy, my vision swimming. Things started coming into focus as hands hauled me to my feet and my hands were tied. My hands were tied. That angered me, and I fought weakly, unsure how I was lashing out and squirming. It didn't matter. I was hauled off in the direction of the Chantry.

**Age Thirteen, Lake Calenhad, 8 Harvestmere, 9:11 Dragon**

A pair of templars rowed me out in a little dingy of a boat, towards the looming image of the Circle Tower in the center of the lake. I stared morosely back at the shoreline, wondering if it was the last time I would see a tree this close up, the last time I would feel the water in the lake, or the last time I could feel the sunlight on my skin. If what I'd heard about the Circle Tower was true, the mages there didn't see the sky. At least in Kirkwall, there was the Gallows Courtyard. I'd heard Ferelden was less brutal, though not by much.

Some days, I wondered how Father knew so much about mages, but the only answer I received was something about a man named Hawke who married his cousin. I dismissed the lack of information; it wasn't my focus at the moment.

I stared down at the water, contemplating my choices. I glanced back at the retreating shoreline and started judging the distance. I was a good swimmer; we used to swim in the ocean on the coast. Deciding I really shouldn't hesitate, I threw myself sideways out of the boat.

I was fully submerged for half a second when I was pulled back up and thrown down onto the bottom of the boat. I swear the damn templar wanted me to get wet before pulling me back in. I huffed and stared straight up at the sky, resigned for the duration of the boat ride. I wouldn't give up, of course, but I knew when my opportunities were gone. My hands were tied anyways; it might have been difficult to swim.

I had wanted freedom my entire life. I'd never felt it truly before, be it hampered by the death of my father or my mother's scrutiny, and yet here I was, caught and distancing myself from all but the most miniscule hope of escape with every stroke of a paddle.

_Damned templars._

**Page 3, Moiraine's Journal**

_Alignments_

_An alignment is the kind of magic that will burst when they are emotionally unstable, or otherwise out of control. (I think Marreia implied drunkenness makes you more unstable. Well then.) An alignment doesn't mean you have to study in a particular school; it's just the default spells you use. They come naturally, without thought or practice, even when you can control it. It's emotional, and always falls in the Primal school, which is the most emotionally-controlled. Some focus more on mental willpower. _

_For example, mine is fire. A most inconvenient one (rather uncontrollable for now). I love it. _

_ Affinities_

_A mage has an affinity for the type of spells that comes naturally to them, and have different levels of affinity for each type._

_For example, I have an affinity for Primal magic, which lines up with my alignment, and that doesn't always happen. It can't, if you don't have an affinity for Primal. I don't know what else yet. _(Added later)_ I'm also decent at Entropy, very good at Force, but I understand none of the theory behind Arcane, or Spirit, and I can't heal a scratch._

_P.S. _

_Morgase's affinity is Spirit, and a bit of Entropy. Her alignment is water. She couldn't use Arcane magic to save her life. _

_Anders' affinity is for Creation, a bit of Spirit, and his alignment is electricity/lightning. Couldn't use Entropy._

_Jowan's affinity is Arcane. His alignment is ice. He once froze me solid when I snuck up on him. (He's not very attentive) He's also good at Spirit, but couldn't do Primal, or Creation to save himself. _

_Graeme's affinity is Entropy, and his alignment, ice. He's good at Creation, too, and couldn't use Arcane or Spirit. _

(Scrawled in the bottom margin at a later date) _Amelie's affinity is Primal, and Creation, too, and she can't use any of the other magics. Her alignment is electricity/lightning, like Anders. _


	2. At Least There Are Books

Author's Note: Hi there! Thanks for continuing. :P  
Here, Moiraine meets her future friends: Anders, Jowan, two OCs.  
Ages are...  
Moiraine: 12/13  
Morgase: 12  
Anders: 14  
Jowan:13  
Graeme: 12  
F!Surana: 11

Now, I know Morgase starts spitting out a lot of my headcanon/AU material stuff. I don't know. Just... it's there. Blah.

Notes I mentioned before and will repeat in this chapter and the next because of updating stuffs

On my profile, near the bottom, I have links to pictures on my dA account, which are of OCs from my various fics, mostly this Greyscale Series./p  
Greyscale is rapidly turning into a massive project. As it grows bigger, though, TCF is getting shorter. Oops. Now, I'm reposting the existing two chapters, edited, because I realize I actually managed to change the main character's name halfway through the first chapter. But, it also looked like she could have been lying to the templar. Well, either way, her name's Moiraine Amell. I fixed it./p

I also added journal entries, when I later decided she would have a journal. There might be tiny spoilers, such as what a character's affinity is in this one, or that there'll be a character named such and such, but nothing like "so-and-so killed so-and-so then threw himself out a window." They're a journal, not a diary, really, and though she might rant her opinions and thoughts down at any given time, she also writes down information to remember. It's just her way of keeping track of everything, thoughts or otherwise. /p

I don't know if I should post There Are Always Chains right now, or wait until I finish TCF, first. ?/p

Anyways, onwards.

* * *

**Chapter Two – At Least There Are Books**

_I won't let you in, let you see me cry_

_I can't give you that satisfaction this time_

_Do you really get what you need_

_Beating the hell out of me?_

_I'm tired of getting up off the floor._

_I can't take this anymore_

_-Brave New World, Hedley_

* * *

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 9 Harvestmere, 9:11 Dragon**

I believe the templars were being spiteful when they threw me to the ground after three steps into the Tower. Sure, I had been struggling, but there were more of them than there were of me, and I was pretty helpless. It's not like I had control of my magic. That, and I was drenched.

The entrance hall of the circle tower was pretty populated, and just about everyone in there stopped to stare at me. I determinedly hauled myself to my feet, but before I was standing straight, one of the templars backhanded me and I went back down.

"Enough, Doderic," a templar with significantly fancier armor, so I assumed he was a higher-up, chided, but it didn't seem that he really cared that I was hit. The templar who hit me stepped back and stood straight.

I glared pointedly in the bastard's direction before standing up and spitting a mouthful blood on the ground.

"You," the fancy templar stated, causing me to turn to look at him. He seemed an emotionless man. "What's your name?"

I could still feel blood flooding my mouth, so I carelessly spat it on the stone floor. _Adelaide, _I contemplated. _Alys. Myra. Lorie. _No. My father named me. I was proud. "Moiraine," I stated, then I added, "Amell."

"Right. Take her phylactery, then give her to Irving," he ordered over my head to the templars behind me. _Phylactery? Well, shit. There it all goes._ One of the templars grabbed my left arm, and I immediately wrenched my arm out of his grasp. I reeled backwards from the force, and nearly fell over, but the second templar caught both my wrists and held them together behind my back. I grunted in protest, though the pain was only mild.

The first templar led the way, and the second marched me forwards, putting more pressure on my arms than was necessary. Number One opened a door to the side of the room, and Number Two shoved me through it. The room was empty except for a table covered in empty vials of various sizes with blank labels. Number One silently walked over to the table and selected a vial seemingly at random, and Number Two made the simple mistake of momentarily releasing my arms.

In that split second, I threw myself out of his reach before turning around and punching him in the empty space in his helm – which happened to be his left eye. The first templar immediately grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. It was an easy move; one of the first you learned if you were to learn to fight. I knew how to get out of it easily, and proceeded to somersault across the floor following my brief escape.

I didn't honestly have a goal. I was simply fighting for as long as I could before it was over.

Number Two was back up, and I was promptly punched in the face as soon as he reached me. I went down quickly. Once on the ground, I stayed there. There was no point to getting up. I was laying on my back, and my eyes openly followed one of the templars fetching the vial and pulling out his dagger. The second templar took my left wrist and held it out, and he looked completely calm; like he thought he'd broken me with one punch.

That angered me. I growled in the back of my throat, but I didn't move. The templar was, of course, not threatened by me, but he did tighten his grip on that arm. My right arm was the stronger punch, but my left was always more accurate. I would need accuracy to find a weakness in his armor to hit. The obvious ones were his neck and face, as well as his armpits. I bit my lip as I considered, but I didn't have much time because the first templar was kneeling in front of me.

I didn't even consciously decide to aim for the neck; I just lunged at him. I hit him and he stumbled from his squatting position, but the templar with the dagger and the vial in one hand grabbed my right arm with the free one and pulled it out straight to him, forearm facing upwards. I lunged at this templar with my left fist, and hit him square in the right eye.

Sadly, he flinched back, and since his second hand wasn't free, he simply punched me in the stomach with the vial and hilt of his dagger. Winded, I fell backwards, and he quickly but cleanly cut my forearm. My vision was a little fuzzed, but the scarlet drops sliding off the side of my now scarred forearm were as clear as the daylight I may never see again.

The second templar shoved his hands under my arms and hauled me to my feet as soon as there was enough blood in the vial. I didn't protest; the sight of the blood _in_ the vial was enough to quiet me, for the moment. Sadly, with that blood in the vial, my hopes of escape drastically declined.

I didn't protest at all as one of the templars led me out of the room by the arm and up a set of stairs. I stared emotionlessly forwards as he led me up and up. I was barely conscious enough to wonder how tall the damn tower was, but I did manage to recognize my incoherence as exhaustion.

It was only when the templar released my arm and knocked on a door that I realized we'd been walking down a hallway, not up more stairs. The door swung open to reveal and old man in a robe, carrying a staff. He looked tired. The templar nodded to the man, and the man nodded back before the templar turned and walked away. The man, a mage, twitched his head and led the way into the room. I expressionlessly followed.

"Your name is Moiraine Amell?" he asked, though I was sure he already knew. He sat down at a chair and gestured to the one opposite to his, which I occupied quickly, tired already. It was probably about dinner time, I deduced when my stomach growled.

"Yes," I confirmed. He frowned at me, and was looking at my cheek rather than my eyes.

"That looks painful. I'm sorry," he apologized, though I wasn't sure what for. "May I?" He gestured to his staff. I paused, reaching up to my face. I remembered I'd been hit multiple times by gauntleted hands and figured I must have a rather large bruise forming. I contemplated for a moment. Did I want it healed? It didn't really hurt, and I decided I wanted the reminder. Or perhaps I just wanted everyone to know that _I fought._ I shook my head.

"I'll... I'll keep it," I muttered, my voice becoming clearer as I spoke. He looked at me doubtfully but he released his staff with what I thought might have been a shrug, even though his shoulders hadn't moved at all.

"I am First Enchanter Irving, and might I welcome you to the Circle Tower. I apologise for your less-than friendly welcome, but I hope it will improve. The templars have never been... gentle." I shrugged, my face still blank. "Are you injured, besides the face?"

"Nothing bothersome," I replied simply, staring through him. I had some bruises on my wrists, arms, and ribs, probably, but bruises were nothing I couldn't handle. He started asking some simple questions. _How old are you?_ _Where are you from? _I answered them mechanically. He wrote them down, probably for my files.

"Senior Enchanter Wynne will be here soon to take you down to the apprentice quarters for the night. She is assigning you a bunk and finding you a few apprentice robes as we speak. When apprentices first arrive, you will take some general lessons on each specialization of magic. Are you literate?" he paused to ask, and I nodded. Father had taught me to read and write, of course. I was nobly born, after all. "Good, so you can skip the writing and reading lessons, then. Lessons will be taught by enchanters, and when you reach a suitable level of control and knowledge, an Enchanter can take you as their apprentice if you are inclined to their specialization. You have some say in this as well. In the morning, you have breakfast, then go to two lessons, followed by lunch and two more classes. Your evenings are free until curfew. The fourth and fifth floors are off limits..." Irving went through a list of rules I tried to follow blankly, as though he said the exact same thing to each new mage. He probably did.

"Ah, Wynne. This is Moiraine Amell," the First Enchanter introduced, looking up at the graying woman who had appeared in the door. She smiled, and I thought she had a decidedly grandmotherly feel to her.

"Hello, Moiraine. It is nice to meet you," she smiled warmly and gestured with her hand for me to get up. I stood and walked hesitantly to the door. "I am Senior Enchanter Wynne."

She led the way down all those stairs I barely remembered coming up, and I quickly found myself zoning out in my exhaustion. She turned off the stairs at what I thought must be about the second or first floor, into a hallway with a lot of doors. "...and here to the left are the girl's apprentice dormitories. To the right are the boys'," Wynne droned on. She didn't have an over boring voice, but I disliked the motherly sort on principle. She cut into the third door, which wasn't really a door, just a door shaped opening, and inside I saw there were rows of bunks. I quickly counted nine bunks, and each bunk had a nightstand on either side, I assumed one for each apprentice. There were a few apprentices in the room, but not enough to fill even half the beds.

Wynne stopped in front of a bunk that looked half-occupied, I presumed because I would be the second occupant. There was a lamp lit, and a girl with long, wavy black hair was leaning against the wall on the bottom bunk, reading by the lamplight. She was biting the end of a quill, but had no parchment out to write on. It must have been a habit.

"Morgase?" Wynne asked quietly, getting the girl's attention. She looked up from her book, the quill falling from her mouth. "You really must stop that habit. Ah, anyway, this is Moiraine Amell. Moiraine, Morgase Nalven. She will be bunking with you."

"Nice to meet you, Moiraine," Morgase greeted, reaching out a hand. She had a feminine, high voice. I smiled and shook the hand she offered, and before I could say anything, Wynne interrupted.

"Here, Moiraine, these are your robes," she handed me an armful of orange-ish fabric that I looked at distastefully. "And before you ask, _yes_, they are mandatory." I frowned at that. "Well, I have duties to attend to. Goodnight, girls."

I nodded to her and smiled briefly, but as I said before, I didn't like the motherly type.

"I have the bottom, if that's alright with you?" Morgase asked me, causing me to turn around to face her. I smiled warmly. It would do me well to have some friends among the apprentices to pass the time with. As long as this Morgase's personality didn't match her airy voice.

"Of course," I replied. I tossed the robes Wynne had given me up onto the aforementioned bunk, as Morgase gestured to her bunk.

"So, um, where are you from?" Morgase asked, seemingly looking for a conversation starter. I noticed her eyes lingered on the bruise on my face, but I couldn't find it in me to be offended by it.

"I'm from Kirkwall, actually. I ran, when the templars... Well, I made it to Ferelden, and ended up here instead of the Gallows. You?"

"I'm from Highever," she replied. "My story seems like it must be less interesting, anyway. I knocked an entire crowd over when I was frustrated trying to find a way through, and the templars came. My parents probably don't even know I'm here. I don't think they'd keep contact with me anyway." She frowned. "Not many do. Well, that was about four months ago."

"My mother won't talk to me, but I don't think I'd want her to if she did," I said honestly. I had nothing but spite for my mother, and had no problem sharing it with others. I left my father out of the conversation, though. The conversation passed away from our families and onto what the circle was like.

"For most of the apprentices, keeping your head down keeps you out of the templars' line of sights," Morgase was saying. She gestured to my bruise, and grinned almost unnoticeably. "I see you're not that type, though. I'm glad. I'm not, either, honestly, but I'm not nearly as bad as Anders. He's a friend of mine. Been here about a year. He's older than us, got two years on me and one on you. He's fourteen, now. I'll introduce you to him, Jowan, and Graeme tomorrow. Jowan... he... well, let's say he keeps his head down. Graeme will fight back if he's noticed, but he doesn't openly seek out opportunities to anger templars. I... well, I'm more like Graeme. The way Anders is openly sarcastic to everything they say is asking to be tossed around and he is, often. Of course, if a templar decides to come at me... or, well... Anyway. If a templar's bored, you go in the opposite direction. Don't go too far alone, that's just asking for it."

"I knew it was brutal in the Tower, and the Gallows, but can't the Enchanters do anything if some of the templars are... cruel... when they're bored? I mean, I can understand that Knight-Commander not caring, he seemed... emotionless," I asked honestly. It wasn't in ignorance, only simple wondering.

"Well... Honestly, they do what they can. They heal you up, and sometimes they can get a word in with Alabar, that's the Knight-Commander, but the templars are really in charge. Alabar... yes, he's emotionless, but the reason the templars get away with... well, anything they might want to do that is negative to us mages is that he's as bad as the rest. He believes in more drastic measures. Do you know what Tranquil is?" I nodded with a scowl. "Well, luckily, he rarely makes anyone Tranquil. He only does that when the problem is with magic. He believes your average, or above average, in some cases, misbehaving is best solved by, well, violence, punishment. He also has had an apprentice or two beaten so that they're weakened and 'tested for willpower.' They don't usually bother children, though." Morgase frowned and didn't continue.

"I... well, I fought them..." I said absently. "Of course, there were more of them than me, and they had armor on, but I got some punches in. At least they might look as bad as I do under those helms as I do."

She smiled at that, and lifted the tip of her quill to the corner of her mouth with a laugh, starting to chew on it. "Right, well, what about the positives? Magic? What do you think?"

"I don't know a lot about it. Father told me some things," I almost cut short what I was saying because I'd mentioned Father, but I was always in control of my own emotions, except some anger, of course, and my surprise at being reminded of his death went unnoticed. "He said he knew an apostate once. Called him Hawke. He told me some times about demons, and what to watch for. He showed me to trust logic, and I can manage well, so far. I've been showing signs of magic for three or four years, actually. It was stupid to stay in Kirkwall, but we couldn't tell Mother. She would've sent me off."

Morgase looked about to question what I meant, but I just pushed past it. "Right, well, I've had quite a few times when fire just appears around me. I even did it on purpose a time or two. I just... I don't know. From what I can tell, it has to do with emotions."

"It does," she agreed. "The... the Tower isn't a good environment, but if you can manage to learn to control your magic, there's opportunity to learn a few things. When I first got here, Jowan had been here since he was a child, but Graeme and Anders had only been around for almost a year. Anders is good with Creation, specifically healing... do you know the schools of magic?"

"I... no. what are they?" I asked, tilting my head to look at her.

"Well, there's eight schools of magic. There are different categories and such between the schools, and different specialties... but I won't get into those. They're probably the second thing you'll learn. Well, there's Entropy, which is mostly illusions and tricks of the mind, there's Creation, which mostly affects your energy and physical health. That's where healing comes in, mostly basic healing. Then there's Spirit Healing, which is more specialized. It's not actually a school, though. It's where you work with spirits in the Fade. Not demons, but the opposite of a demon? If that makes sense. Right, well, then there's Primal, which is your offensive, Battlemage school. It works with the elements. You know, fire, water, ice, earth? Weather spells, too." I nodded, following what she was saying, for the most part. I noticed a flood of apprentices moving into the dormitories, and figured curfew was nearing. "Then you have the Arcane, which is a wide sort of magic. It's really about mental and physical resistances and your mental strength. It's the type that requires a lot of focus. Then, there's Force, which we don't get a lot of around here. It's common in Kirkwall – you're from there, aren't you? Maybe you'll be a Force Mage – well, Force works with air, strength, gravity and altering weight of things and such. Then, you have Spirit. Spirit works with the invisible, like auras and a person's spirit."

"That... I understood some of that. Will I have to remember all of them?" I asked, starting to feel a little bombarded by information. Morgase had been pretty helpful though, and I was glad that I was getting along so well with her. It seemed like I would have a friend here.

"No, not yet," she chuckled lightly. "An Enchanter will probably pay specific attention to you during our lessons, for a few days, to teach you the basics you don't know yet. There's usually a couple Enchanters, teaching different levels in the general lessons. They're just in the library... Looks like its curfew, Moiraine."

I noticed that the apprentices in the room were starting to put out lamps and settle into their beds. I nodded absently. "Right. I _am_ exhausted..." I trailed off. I reached up to touch my hair, which was flying out in every direction, I realized. It usually dried badly if I didn't braid it while it was wet. I had been dry by the time I arrived here in the dormitories, though. I smiled half-heartedly at Morgase before climbing up onto the top bunk.

I lied flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. From the corner of my eyes, I saw that the remaining lights, including Morgase's, were going out, and it was completely dark, soon. Someone who I thought must be an Enchanter came and closed the door.

Staring at the ceiling, I started considering my new situation. It had been easy to lean back and let Morgase talk about the Tower, magic, and her friends, but now that the silence was closing in, a sense of hopelessness was dawning on me. Not that it hadn't been there before.

If I was being honest with myself, I'd already come to terms with the fact that I would be stuck here. There was a long walk with templars that definitely helped.

I fought, though, and I always would. I knew I was stuck here, and that didn't mean I had to like it, or that it had to be forever.

_I could escape. Possibly. It can't be that hard? _I sighed openly. _I need more information. I'll stay, I'll learn about magic... I'll plan. I'll stay, but if a templar wants to be an ass, there's no way that I'm just letting him do it. I might be stuck here, but that doesn't mean I can't take advantage of the positives, and fight the negatives. I'll do this._

_Optimism,_ I sneered openly, though no one could see it. _It never did anyone any good... _My train of thought was lost as I drifted to sleep, my mind deciding being fully awake tomorrow was more important than considering these things at the moment. After all, I was currently looking out towards a lifetime of endless routine.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 10 Harvestmere, 9:11 Dragon**

I woke up to the feeling of someone lightly prodding my arm, obviously slightly hesitant. I opened my eyes a crack and took in the appearance of the ceiling.

"Damn it all," I swore, rolling onto my side to look into the face of Morgase. She had a morose look on her face, probably a mirror of my own. I sat up and slid off the bed as she back up out of my way. We said nothing as we went about pulling on robes, and I started reluctantly braiding my still fizzy hair. When I was finished, I turned to face Morgase, and frowned at the robes she was wearing, then looked at the ones I had on.

"Well... Breakfast?" I supplied. She nodded.

"Right, well, come on, then. I'll introduce you to my friends," Morgase said, and smiled. I started studying her the way I normally would when I first met someone, which I had been too exhausted to care for the night before. I had been content to listen to her talk, and explain. Now, though, I wanted to get a read on her.

The first thing I noticed was that her smile was slightly strained, the type of false smile I probably wore most of the time. It was very subtle, though I would bet mine was more so. Perhaps it was the false smile every Circle Mage wore. I couldn't guess, yet, but I would watch.

We walked along, following other small groups of apprentices, heading down the spiraling stairs. I examined each apprentice. The ages ranged from about eight to twenty. I looked at a group of eight and nine year old girls, smiling brilliantly.

The innocence was astounding. I wondered if templars had really left the poor girls alone. I looked more carefully, and was extremely disappointed to find that in fact, one of them had a bruise just barely showing one her back, mostly hidden by the robes. That one's eyes were more haunted, but the others were cheerful enough, happy in their youthful ignorance. I looked at the poor girl. She had honey-brown eyes, hollow and warn, and hair the colour of straw.

My eyes trailed over to another group. They appeared to be about Morgase and I's ages, twelve, thirteen or so. This group had no air of innocence about them. Just looking at them, I could tell that any child here grew up quickly.

The first girl was blonde, like me, with blue eyes. I had to look hard to find the only injury on her, bruises on her wrist that matched mine, only on the opposite sides of her wrists.

The second had brown hair, and green eyes. Her injuries were even more subtle. I couldn't find any explanation at first for _her_ hollow eyes, though hollow eyes seemed to be on the faces of half the people in the hall.

The answer lied on the third girl, who also had brown hair and green eyes. She looked almost identical to the second, and they appeared to be sisters. This girl had the ends of lacerations showing on the back of her neck. I might have shivered if I had less control. Caring for your sister was an obvious weakness for a templar to exploit. I wondered what the girls had done. I doubted just anyone would beat someone so young for no reason at all.

Looking at another group, an older one, about eighteen and nineteen, I could have seen Morgase and I's future. There were three girls, again. The first was blonde, like me, the second had black hair matching Morgase's, though she was an elf, and the third had brilliant red hair.

Their conversation looked tense, as though they were uncomfortable conversing in public. The blonde wore her robes low on her back, displaying obvious scars. They were the marks of a flogging. Her eyes were up and staring forward with a permanent furious defiance. The elf had different injuries: bruises on her neck that moved down to her chest, and marks on her arms as well. Her eyes were hollowed, and held exhaustion rather than defiance. They weren't downcast the way the third's were, but they seemed like they were in the process of moving lower and lower to the ground each day.

The redhead's eyes were almost on the floor. When one of her friends spoke to her, she looked them straight in the eyes, but when they passed a templar, her eyes would snap to the floor and she would say nothing. She didn't seem broken; no, she seemed to have a different technique to the blonde's. Her eyes were calculating, like she was plotting something and talented at hiding it from those she didn't want to know. Like the templars.

I supposed it was worse the older you got. I doubted there were more than one or two templars who bothered the children, no more than five who bothered someone my age, but most of the templars probably wouldn't have many reservations about someone older than fifteen or sixteen. Young, but not too young.

I looked around. It wasn't every group that had injuries, or hollow eyes, but all looked slightly warn and wary. Being watched all the time would wear on you, some a lot more quickly than others.

I turned to Morgase. She was looking at me, and I didn't know if she had some idea what I was thinking or not. It was rare for people to read my face, but I _was_ shaken, despite my determination not to be.

Then, it was her turn. I looked at her, considering things I was too tired for the night before. She looked better than half of the others, but not untouched like about half of the apprentices here. Even those untouched didn't look exactly healthy.

No, Morgase had a few bruises I could see. One was on the left side of her chest. It looked like a punch, you could almost distinguish the individual knuckles. That was the worst one.

_She did say she only got in their way when necessary,_ I pondered,_ but didn't elaborate onto what was necessary._

That was when we reached the dining hall. There were tables and benches all over the room, and to one side there were these people with odd tattoos on their foreheads putting food onto people's plates as they stood in a line.

"Come on," Morgase led me over to the back of the line and passed me a plate before picking up one herself. "Here. They'll serve you food, just stand in front of what you want to eat."

The line moved quickly, and soon we were passed it, with food on our plates. Morgase nodded her head towards three boys sitting at the end of a table, and we walked over that way. As we sat down, I dared to ask her quietly, for all the talk in the hall was quiet, who the people with the tattoos were.

"I... those are the Tranquil," Morgase answered hesitantly. She looked at her three friends. The blonde one clenched his teeth, the ginger looked like he'd swallowed something sour, and the one with the long hair appeared to be scared. "They're mages who've been... severed from the Fade, completely. They can't do any magic, and the Rite of Tranquility... well, it takes away _everything_." Her voice grew even quieter. "Emotions, humanity... They're the epitome of monotony."

I just looked back over at the people serving dinner with a newfound wariness. No emotions... I'd heard of the Tranquil before. They would sell wares out in the Gallows courtyard, but I'd never seen one myself. It would've been foolish for me, an apostate at the time, to go to the Gallows. I knew what they were, though, and why.

It was a terrifying thought that I could be subject to it someday.

I'd rather die in my stubbornness. Go down fighting. Subconsciously, I clenched my teeth as well. In anger and disappointment to those who _chose_ Tranquility.

"Anyway," I muttered through my teeth. Morgase only nodded.

"Right," she trailed off before coming back to herself. "This is Moiraine."

"I'm Anders," the blonde said, his teeth already unclenched and a grin on his face that probably hid as much bitterness as the grin I plastered on my own face often enough did. "I saw your arrival, yesterday. I must say, spitting at Alabar..."

I just raised an eyebrow at him. I did remember spitting at who was probably the Knight-Commander. I smiled a small smile of minor pride. If I were to do it again, I'd get something for it, but he didn't care to do anything but get my phylactery done at the time.

"If it helps," I gestured to my face, "there are two templars who look like this, too."

The ginger and the blonde chuckled.

"It does bring a smile to the face," the ginger elf said, false-listlessly. He did smile, though. "You fought the templars trying to get your phylactery?"

"Yeah," I said absently. It was easy for me to be falsely arrogant and sarcastic when I was uncomfortable, but I think I needed a bit of time to adapt before I could do it well. "The only armor-less place on them was the gaps in their helms and the armpits. I figured that punching them in the armpits wouldn't be the best option."

"No, probably not. Oh, I'm Graeme, by the way. That's Jowan," the elf said, and gestured to the boy with long, black hair, who lifted a hand in greeting.

"Anyone who spits at Alabar on their way in is a friend of mine," Anders said cheerfully. "Well, we're here to welcome you to our shared, shiny prison. It's a grim place."

"Yes," I plastered a false smile on my face. "It is grim, isn't it? At least there's a lot of books."

**Page 5, Moiraine's Journal**

- _Primal: Battlemagic. Weather spells, fire spells, water spells, ice spells, earth spells. Things like turning you fist to stone for a punch, freezing someone solid, fireballs, or sending flying ice shards at someone. Primal mages can summon firestorms from the sky, create a tempest, and cover someone in rocks from the surrounding area so that they can't move. One could create a tidal wave if a body of water big enough was nearby. It's fascinating, and apparently my alignment. My first choice, as well. Jowan told me we aren't all so lucky; he's stuck with Arcane. Apparently, Battlemages are called on to fight sometimes; looking forward to it._

- _Creation: Healing spells and energy spells, both positively and negatively. Can provide energy to someone; rejuvenation. Healing wounds. They can also take energy from someone, and open an old wound magically. Spirit Healing, one of the more well-known specializations, is working with 'good' spirits in the fade (contradictory to what Marreia said before) was part of this school. I see the use in healing, and a rejuvenation spell would have purpose. I'm glad this isn't my alignment, though. Sounds too dull for my tastes. They get to leave often, to heal, though._

- _Entropy: Deals with illusions and magic of the mind. Why no one looks on it with suspicion, rather than blood magic, I don't know. Apparently, the **only** way to control a mind is with a few pints of blood and a lot of practice. Entropy does things like make someone think they're terrified, or making yourself look ten feet tall. I can see the use, but it's a limited use. I wouldn't want it for an alignment. Apparently, Entropy mages have the most difficulty getting a genuine way out of the Tower._

- _Force: Force mages are common to Kirkwall, apparently, and I guess it's difficult to learn in Ferelden. They deal with 'gravity,' some force you don't really learn about unless reading obscure books in Arcanum or you go to Kirkwall, and 'pressure.' I wouldn't go to the Gallows for it, though. I was **extremely** glad it isn't my alignment, I default more to fire spells. And electricity once, too. _

- _Arcane: Arcane's supposed to deal with mental and physical fortitude, or something. I don't know, it honestly confuses me. Maybe I'll ask Jowan, but I get the feeling he doesn't know any more than I do. Arcane magic is supposed to be very difficult and complicated. It uses energy, and not the kind Creation does. Pure energy, from the deepest level of the Fade, to, for example, sending a force of energy out from your person to knock all the enemies around you away. They can make a shield out of energy to deflect the energy used in other spells, causing them to dissipate. (P.S. I asked Jowan. He's good at Arcane; that's why he doesn't bother to study anything else.)_

- _Spirit: Spirit I also don't understand, but I asked Morgase. She just told me some things it can do. Apparently, Spirit mages can summon bolts of spirit, a substance all of its own, and can bypass resistances; like a dwarf. I... really, don't know._


	3. The Light of Day

**Author's Note: **So, I went back and revised the first two chapters. Everything's looking quite a bit better, and I'm excited to get this third chapter out there.  
I finally went through and planned all the future chapters, and there should be about fifteen of them.  
There were additions to the first two chapters, and this one: Moiraine's journal entries at the end of the chapters.  
I also changed the dates so that they follow the Thedas calendar.

I now have This Concrete Face down as a prequel to my Origins fic, There Are Always Chains, which I will post after TCF is done, as it follows Moiraine immediately. F!Cousland and F!Amells wardens. I have a three more fics planned for the Greyscale Series, an Awakening one about F!Cousldand, a DA2 one starring my favourite Moiraine Amell, Hawke[of undecided gender], Anders, and of course, Justice. I also have an original fic planned for the adventures of Leah Tabris and Amelie Surana, who survived despite their origins. That one had the least form of them all right now.  
I hope Inquisitions doesn't invalidate everything, and I don't have to mess with it all too much.

Anyway, if you're just reading now, go check out the other chapters. The main content has mostly just had little continuity details fixed (Including, to my shame, the name of the main character).

Also, if you're reading this: thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou. :P

Song lyrics have been added, too. I'm trying to find angsty-enough songs for this series (which isn't too bad now and will get worse before it gets better, then worse again. Shh.) It isn't difficult thanks to my Five Finger Death Punch, Nickelback, and Three Days Grace obsession. :P

There are also links to pictures of the characters near the bottom of my profile.

I know I'm repeating myself; it's because I was updating previous chapters. Ignore it.

Anyways, onwards.

* * *

**Chapter Three – The Light of Day**

_If I could hold back the rain,  
Would you numb the pain?  
Cause I remember  
Every little thing  
If I could help you forget,  
Would you take my regret?  
Cause I remember  
Every little thing  
-Remember Everything, Five Finger Death Punch_

* * *

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 10 Harvestmere, 9:11 Dragon**

I followed the other four to the apprentices' library, where there were a few Enchanters ready to meet us. One of them stepped forwards, and started going over rules of the Circle. I figured I should listen. He started listing things like "mages are not to drink" and "curfew is to be observed." Apparently "mages are not to fraternize" either.

After, the Enchanters started approaching apprentices and gathering small groups before splitting off to teach. Probably apprentices with similar skills in whatever it was they were teaching. I was left until last, and I was one-on-one with an elven Enchanter.

"I am Enchanter Marreia. You are Moira?" The woman's voice was nasally and obnoxious.

"Moiraine Amell," I corrected icily, fury and grief rising into the pit of my stomach at the nickname my father had given me. The _fool_ at the end of the sentence hung in the air unsaid. I was sure she knew Moira wasn't my name. I was from Kirkwall. Why would I be named for the rebel Queen? I clenched my teeth and let the anger show behind my eyes. Was she some pious, chantry-loving fool? I wanted no familiarity with this woman.

"Yes," Marreia said. "Miss Amell, if you'd come with me, I'll start to teach you the basics." She led the way to a chair at the edge of the room and had me sit in it, standing in front of me. _If one man is standing and the other sitting, the man standing has the immediate advantage, _her father's voice said. That was for the game nobles play: politics. There were other situations; if two men were standing, and one was to start pacing or doing other nervous habits, if he other were to sit and be perfectly calm, he had the advantage.

"The Chant of Light says 'Magic was created to serve man, never to rule over him,'" the woman started, and I knew this would be horrid. I found myself hoping for a different Enchanter for the next day.

She started by talking of the dangers of magic, with many references to the Chant. This, of course, led me to believe she might be exaggerating. She talked of demons, and how everything that moves, thinks, sees, communicates, hears or dances the Remigold in the Fade is evil, and how magic is corrupt.

This I mostly disregarded. My father had told me what he knew of magic, and the Fade, however limited that knowledge was. I already knew not to trust anything in the Fade, but I didn't believe in evil.

Evil was a foolish concept. As was good.

She moved on to more useful subjects, with no fewer Chant references. I managed to block them out and take in useful things. I said nothing, but continued to listen. It was a lecture, not a lesson. I might as well have not been there.

Then she talked of the 'evil' of blood magic. How it was once a school of its own, about Tevinter, more Chantry bullshit. I took her word for nothing, and continued to pick out the true, useful information. If I believed evil to be foolish, what was my opinion on blood magic? I pondered that for a time before putting it to the back of my mind for later, maybe to theorize in my new journal. I didn't know enough on the subject.

She talked of the schools of magic; Primal, Creation, Entropy, Force, Arcane, and Spirit. She was a bit clearer than Morgase had been. I refused to pretend I cared enough about what she was saying to write it down, but I filed it away to write down later, in the journal I found in the trunk. Journals must be provided.

After that she went on to talk about alignments and affinities. She decided my alignment was fire spells, after hearing one sentence on my accidental magic. An alignment was you 'default magic' you went to without thought. An affinity was the type of magic you were a natural at, that you could grasp the most easily. She said that tomorrow, I'd be tested for affinities.

Her lesson passed slowly, as Marreia rambled on about a lot of nothing until lunch.

"Oh, I feel bad for you. Enchanter Marreia. She's a... loyalist. To be kind. Why am I being kind? She's a bitch," Morgase corrected herself, when I complained about the enchanter. I laughed into by hand before asking my question.

"A loyalist?"

"Oh, yes. The fraternities of the Enchanters. They're different viewpoints on what we should do as mages," Morgase explained. She continued to list them off. I wrote it in my journal later as well.

I didn't even get to do any magic with Marreia for the rest of the day.

The next morning, I woke up to find Morgase poking me in the side of my head. I rolled over and looked at her.

"Yes?" I asked simply.

"Morning time," she responded in kind. I nodded with a yawn, getting up out of bed. I wore next to nothing; the Circle wasn't the place for modesty, apparently. Some people ran about blushing over it, some were as bad as I was, and there were some in the middle. I never slept in many clothes, and when I did, I'd get hot and be unable to sleep. I wasn't about to stop now, and Morgase told me it was fine.

I pulled on the horrid robes, and some boots, before heading down to breakfast with Morgase. We met Graeme, Jowan, and Anders in the hall. Breakfast passed in much the same way, and time didn't seem to pass. Not in the way that suddenly, you look up and find it's evening, but in the way that you barely noticed time's existence at all.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 14 Harvestmere, 9:11 Dragon**

Luckily, I had a different Enchanter that day. His name was Francys. He gave straightforward information and straightforward instructions. We'd confirmed my alignment was definitely fire.

"Now, try something that isn't fire." He pulled a metal cup over to himself and with a wave of his hand, water appeared. "Try to freeze it."

It took longer than the fire, but eventually, the top of the water froze over. Next, he had me summon electricity, which I did a lot faster than the ice. I also managed to make a flower bloom. That all took the entire morning.

After lunch, we moved to the other schools of magic. I managed to do the Force spell quickly, and the Entropy one, which took most of the afternoon.

"Okay," Francys said. He pulled out his dagger and pricked the tip of his finger. He proceeded to explain how to delve his hand for injuries, and how to heal it. He was a decent if stoic teacher, and I still didn't manage it. We spent half the afternoon on it, but I couldn't do it.

He dismissed me just before supper, around the same time as the groups of apprentices were, after saying he'd be back tomorrow to try Arcane and Spirit spells. It was testing for my affinities, seeing how quickly I could grasp a rudimentary spell.

"I couldn't heal a papercut if I was bleeding out from it," I told my new probably-friends with a sigh. "All the Primal spells were simple, though. And the Force spell. I managed Entropy, too."

"I couldn't do the Primal spells," Jowan admitted. "I thought Arcane was easy."

"I healed the scratch immediately." Anders shrugged. I glared playfully and swatted him. He relented. "I couldn't do Entropy, though."

"I can do Entropy, though. Not Spirit, though," Graeme said.

"And Spirit is my affinity," Morgase added. "And I couldn't do Arcane. It's like a circle. How ironic."

I snorted into my glass.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 1 Firstfall, 9:11 Dragon, Satinalia**

"This is an odd way to spend Satinalia, I admit," I said, sitting upside-down on the armchair in the library. My legs were resting on the back, and my head hanging off of it. There was a side table in our little corner, which had my current journal and a quill sitting on it. I'd just closed it and placed it there before flipping over on the chair.

Anders was sitting cross-legged in another armchair, across from me, and Jowan sitting on a stool to his left. At the other side of the table, Morgase had the chair. Graeme was on the floor, leaning against her chair, as we hadn't been able to find another unoccupied one.

Just about every apprentice not engaging in 'other' activities were sitting around in the library, some reading, some talking. We had the day off, as a holiday. One of five days off lessons we were given. Brutal, I thought.

"You get used to it, really," Jowan sighed. "Besides, Satinalia's the best one. Well, First Day's all right. All Soul's Day, Summerday, and Wintersend are all spent in the Chantry, though. Well not _in_ the Chantry, it's much too small. In the dining hall, where the priests all go. And preach."

"That sounds... horrible," I muttered, closing my eyes. Maybe I'd nap... No. I opened them. I couldn't nap around so many people. The dorms were hard enough.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 27 Drakonis, 9:12 Dragon**

"Stop that!" I exclaimed. I was the only one around, save a templar who'd just knocked a small elf girl to the ground. I'd seen her before. She never talked, to anyone. Maybe in classes. I think her name was something... something Surana?

The templar whirled to look at me. I couldn't see what he looked like; recently, the templars had been issued new, full-face helms. He advanced on me. I glanced to see that the elf girl had curled up in a ball and backed up into the corner.

The templar reached me, and backhanded me as I simply stared at her defiantly. It wasn't the first templar I'd been hit by. They didn't exactly appreciate snide remarks. On occasion, one of them would be above hitting me, but it seemed like that was never. It seemed to me that every templar was out to beat us and hurt us during those years.

My head jerked sideways, but I didn't fall. I felt a bit of blood pool in my mouth and decided against antagonizing him any further by spitting it on the floor. I turned the hit cheek, putting my chin up. He slapped the other one as well. This time, I stumbled. It was a harder hit. A hand came out and punched me in the stomach. I fell over, clutching my stomach and gasping for the air he'd knocked out of me.

"Leave her alone," I heard, looking up weakly to see Morgase standing there, next to Graeme. They both looked hesitantly defiant. The templar spun to look at them, and observed the scene through the slits in his helm for a moment before spinning and stalking away, apparently deciding four was too much effort.

Graeme was by my side in a second, helping me to my feet. I was just winded, maybe bruised. Morgase went over to the elf. They probably thought the templar was going to... well, that he might rape her, and that a girl approaching her might make her feel more comfortable. That was probably what was happening, considering the proximity of a storage room off this hallway. For some reason, they were wrong.

The girl shied away from Morgase, backing into the corner. Graeme and I headed over, and I was unsure about the problem.

"It's all right. He's gone," I told her softly, not making any sudden movements.

"Not he," the girl corrected in a hoarse voice. "She."

Oh. _Oh._ That was... _Oh_. Graeme apparently realized the same thing, and the elf knelt down next to the girl, and he was able to get her to her feet. The tear was in the skirt of her robes, but the girl seemed not to notice.

"You... helped me," she muttered, eyes wide. She looked about eleven or so. I nodded.

"I'm Moiraine Amell. This is Morgase Nalven, and that is Graeme Malkere," I introduced. She looked around, her fear starting to ease off, I thought.

"I'm... I'm Amelie. Surana," she mumbled. Graeme looked a little pained, and the grip the other elf had on him seemed about to bruise. Graeme said nothing.

When I arrived, Morgase had started showing me how things worked here. She said I'd learned certain rules first and disregarded others. She'd also said she'd step in if it was necessary, but hadn't elaborate on what that was. Maybe the sexual assault of an eleven year old elf girl was? Probably. I certainly thought so. Morgase said they usually left the children alone. Usually. The rest of us weren't exactly children anymore, though, or soon wouldn't be.

"It's nice to meet you, Amelie," Morgase said with a small smile.

"Other circumstances would've been nice, but..." I added. Amelie smiled a little tiny bit, as though the expression was foreign.

"Well, do you have any friends we can take you to?" Graeme suggested. It was evening, and we didn't want to leave her alone. If she had friends, though, they'd know better what to do for her, specifically than we would. When Amelie shook her head, I exchanged frowns with Morgase.

"Come on, then," Morgase told her. "You'll stay with us from now on."

And so we had another addition to our group: Amelie Surana. She didn't trust us immediately, and it took some time. She took a near-instant liking to Jowan, and the two became rather close within a week. She liked Graeme and Anders fine, but she distrusted women, I think. She was uncomfortable around Morgase and I. That didn't mean we gave up, though.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 18 Cloudreach, 9:12 Dragon**

A year today, I fled Kirkwall. My father died. I...

It had been a year. I pressed my face into my hands where we sat in the library. My friends didn't ask, not even little Amelie. She was learning the rules, as I had.

The rules were a real thing among the apprentices. They weren't even completely unspoken. They were acknowledged when you made your first friends, when someone who'd been at the tower longer took you under their wing. For Amelie, that hadn't happened until now. She'd been at the tower since she was six, and she was now eleven. She claimed to barely remember Denerim's Alienage, or her family. So did Jowan. Anders claimed the same. As did Graeme. Morgase and I both couldn't claim that, having arrived too old, and though neither could Anders, we didn't deny nor confirm despite that. Anders wasn't even his real name.

I flipped through the back of my journal. There were dozens of scratched out sketches of the same face. I'd been improving. I wasn't good at drawing, but with so much practice of trying to recreate the same face from memory was making me more capable of drawing that face, and only that face. I'd almost gotten it right. In a few more tries, I'd have a decent replica.

I never wanted to forget my father's face.

Or anything else about him, or Kirkwall, or the things I used to do and the people I used to know. It had a journal all to itself; the one I held. Father was the only one who merited a sketch, though, and the only one I had a care to complete.

"Who's that?" Amelie asked, when I paused on the most recent picture. I was looking at it intently. I turned my gaze on her, snapping the book shut and placing it on the table. Amelie winced, recoiling, so I answered. She needed to trust us. You couldn't make it alone in the tower.

Then again, you couldn't make it with others that can be used against you.

"My father," I said softly.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 2 August, 9:12 Dragon**

Morgase and I were sitting side by side in the library, during generals, in the herbalism group for that morning. Anders was nowhere to be seen, not uncommon. Amelie and Graeme were in the history lesson. I wished I was. History was a bit of escapism for me; someone else's life, and all.

"Do you think Jowan's been apprenticed?" Morgase whispered to me. She normally didn't whisper in lessons; that was what Anders was for. Morgase and the rest of them kept their heads down a lot more than Anders and I.

I think now that perhaps we were just reckless and restless.

"Probably. He's been here quite some time, hasn't he? In generals. Longer than the rest of us," I replied. Enchanter Tomas took him out of generals first thing. He was an Arcane mage, same as Jowan. That was probably it. Morgase didn't reply to me, zoning back in to Enchanter Sylva's lesson. I sighed and let my mind wander.

At lunch, Amelie, Graeme, Morgase, and I wandered to the dining hall together, expecting to meet Jowan and Anders. We arrived to find Jowan already sitting in his usual place, on Amelie's right and Anders' left. I took my seat across from Anders' empty one, and Morgase to my right, and Graeme on her right. Anders was usually here for lunch; this was odd.

"I'm Tomas' apprentice now," Jowan announced. He didn't look happy about the idea. Or maybe there was something else.

"Congratulations," Graeme told him, looking questioning, but none of us would ask. If he wanted us to know he could tell us.

An awkward silence fell over us. Usually, Anders broke them. I was the closest thing we had to him at the moment, Maker knows why, and I opened my mouth to make some joking comment, but Jowan cut me off.

"Anders is gone," he said simply.

"Gone... how?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know. Morgase had stilled.

"As in run for it," Jowan mumbled. "I heard Greagoir ordering a group of templars to hunt him down and bring him back. I think he slipped out during the Chantry services yesterday."

I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Morgase was tense. Anders had talked about running before, about escaping, about freedom. I'd told him about Kirkwall, skirting the line of not talking about family by only speaking of the place and the things to do there. About the sights and smells. We'd made figurative plans, looked for escape routes. But... he did it? And didn't tell me?

_What about me?_

That was a selfish thought. A foolish one. A simply stupid one. I'd almost allowed myself to get too close to Anders, to Morgase. I'd needed this, needed him to run, to leave me here.

I'd needed to remember that feeling of being dropped.

I had let myself slip, getting close to these people. Not with Graeme, or Jowan, or Amelie, but with Morgase, and Anders. I still hadn't done the confidant thing, but I'd allowed myself to get too comfortable.

Friends always leave you, one way or another.

You couldn't rely on people to be around.

You couldn't rely on anyone.

I ignored the conversation around me for the moment, and resolved to fix my masks on the morrow. And I did.

**Age Thirteen, Kinloch Hold, 2 August, 9:12 Dragon, (After Noon)**

During generals, the templars came in.

The listed off out names, and we had no choice but to follow. I pitied Amelie the most. The rest of us could probably take it. The questioning.

They had two rooms set aside. Amelie and Graeme were left in the hall to wait, and Morgase and I were brought in first. Separate rooms. I wondered if they knew that Morgase, Graeme and I spent more time around Anders than Jowan and Amelie. I hoped they did. Neither of the other two would do well with the attention. I was confident us three could take it, though.

I wondered if Jowan had already been through, or if they were fetching him as I was escorted into the small room. I doubted this was the purpose for them; things like this happened only so often. Sure, I'd seen quite a few of the young apprentices try to run, at first. When they still remember the light of day. They rarely make it so far as outside, and then they get sent to Alabar's office. From what I could deduce, they got the strap. Badly. Apparently, they needed to think that running was worse than staying. I didn't know what happened to those on their second offense. At least Anders was on his first.

He must have gotten farther than the other shoreline, otherwise they wouldn't have called us to question.

In some small part of my brain, I couldn't help but think: I remember the light of day.

_I'm stubborn. And smart,_ a prideful part retorted.

I was sat down in a wooden chair in front of a desk. The desk was mostly bare, and the lighting dim. The decorations weren't at garish as in most of the tower. One templar sat across from me, no helmet on his head, and no gauntlets, and another, in full plate, stood off to the right stoically.

"So," the templar behind the desk said, leaning over it to look closer at me. I kept my face straight and looked back at him. "Where did he go?"

I shook my head. "If I knew, I wouldn't tell you." He sighed, standing up. There was a look to him I didn't like. I didn't like the look to any of them, but this one had an 'I like to touch children' look. I doubted he actually did, but either way. He started walking a slow circle around the desk, stopping at my shoulder. He put his hand on it, and I tensed up but resisted the urge to shake it off.

"It'll be easier for all of us if you'd just tell us, Amell," he said, leaning in towards me as he spoke before leaning back out and continuing around to do that same thing to my other shoulder. "You know we'll catch him, eventually." I did know. They would. They had his phylactery. If I did know, telling them would serve no purpose, only that they would decide I was involved, and I'd probably get a strapping, too. He wouldn't want that any more than I did, even were I capable of earning it. "So why don't you just tell us where he went, so this can all be over that much faster?" He trailed his hand up my neck and across my jawline. I clenched my jaw and didn't twitch a muscle, until I jerked sideways out of his grasp and stood up.

I backed up, and the armored templar walked up behind me and caught my elbows behind my back. I glared hatefully forwards. I hoped Anders did get out. I wished I could.

Suddenly, I was hit with an uncalled for smite, and I slumped in the templar holding me's arms with a wave of nausea and powerlessness. He pushed me back into the chair.

"So," the interrogator started again, returning to his side of the desk and lowering himself into the chair. I heaved, trying to regain myself.

"Sers?" a voice interrupted from the now-open doorway. I hadn't noticed in my... recovery. The interrogator looked up.

"Yes, initiate?"

"The Knight-Commander told me to tell you the apprentice has been caught. You can leave these be now," he stuttered. He was blonde, and not unattractive. Initiates didn't get helms. _No templars_, which was another of the rules. It was one only some of the girls followed, and one I intended to. _Mother's right,_ a thought interrupted, _I will not be a maiden by the time I'm fifteen, especially not here. Everyone sleeps with everyone, and nothing means anything. _

"Fine," the interrogator stood with a scowl at me. "You can go," he snapped, and gestured to the other templar and the recruit before leading the way out of the room in a huff. Sick bastard.

I was left alone for a bit, and after deciding I could stand, from the smite, I tried to do so. And fell flat on my ass. Graeme came in after a bit, to help me. The door had been left open, and he'd heard the noise of my fall. He helped me back to the apprentice dorms, and I slept off the smite in Morgase's bunk, not having the strength to climb onto my own top bunk.

_Anders is back, _I thought, drifting off into the Fade. _He'll get a strapping, a _very_ brutal one, but he can take it. He's back..._

**Moiraine's Journal, Page 19**

_On the rules:_

_The rules are necessarily unspoken, because every new apprentice is told them, but they aren't exactly talked of openly. They're essentially apprentice social dos and don'ts. There are rules on friendships, talking about _before_, relationships, feelings, sex, templars, and everything in between, and they were all open for the interpretation of your friend group. Including, but not limited to..._

- _Don't show your attachments in front of templars._

- _Don't sleep with templars. [Willingly] (A rule our group intended to follow)_

- _Don't ask about _before_. If someone wants to talk, listen and don't comment unless directly asked a question, meaning your opinion is welcome. _

- _Do enjoy yourself where and when you can._

- _Don't betray each other to the templars. [Or other higher-up mages.]_

- _Blood magic is asking for it._

- _Never tell where you get your alcohol from. (A shared rule among every apprentice)_

- _Don't mention anyone who failed their Harrowing in public. _

- _Fight back only at your own risk._

- _If someone wants to be alone, they probably mean it, and unless you're sure otherwise, comply. _

- _If someone is crying, _do not_ ask. _

- _Never mock tears._

- _A wink and a grin is a question: Interested?_

- _Patience with those learning the rules._

_Essentially, the rules were developed as a basic way of surviving at the tower and were probably once something that didn't have a name, such as 'the rules.' I think they probably developed into their own little survival guide over a long period of time, and evolved into what they are now. An apprentice arrived, and they're usually absorbed into their own group almost immediately, with bunk placement, breakfast, or generals, and someone who's just arrived is usually taken under a friend's wing: like Morgase, with me. They're mostly a way to keep everyone mostly able to live with each other, with exceptions, of course. There always are. _

_I doubt there's ever been a full, written list of the rules. What I wrote above, just a fraction of the conventions, is probably the most comprehensive list in existence? Maybe it would be easier to learn if there was a literal guide, rather than another apprentice, but that would include having a written copy beyond anything personal that goes into writing. (Like this, and I keep _this_ journal hidden carefully, with the one labelled "_Before"_.)_

_They're rarely even listed as a list of rules out loud. If someone were to ask you about _before_¸ you could look at them and say they were breaking the rules, and they'd know they were. There would be no "You're breaking rule fifty-nine. See here, on page thirty-eight, if says that 'apprentices are not to ask one another about their lives before coming to the tower...'"_

_I have to assume it's a lot harder for an older apostate who was raised outside the Circle. This only comes to mind because of a woman who was captured and pushed immediately into her Harrowing, and failed, just yesterday. Her name was _Eliza.


End file.
